


Basking In Youth

by Gallahad



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, basically a nkstein 'how they met' fic, mentions of gwyndolin and gwyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-25 10:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17119274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallahad/pseuds/Gallahad
Summary: A god prince, a silver knight, and a bunch of first times.





	Basking In Youth

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a secret santa for the lovely @[Barasboo](https://twitter.com/barasboo).

 

The first time Gwyn's Firstborn noticed Ornstein, it was from afar, on the battlefield.

It was a nameless soldier, a silver knight among all the others, with nothing outstanding at first glance.

Other than an agility that made him look like he was dancing between fire and deadly claws.

The armor was shinning, glistened with the blood of enemies, its crimson a stark contrast to the dull grey of the metal. Maybe it was what caught the Firstborn's attention at first.

It looked like a duet, a very special one, performed by the knight and the dragon facing him. The sound of steel against titanite, the death of the men surrounding the front-line and the deafening thunder was their melody, and it took a harsh command from his father for the Firstborn to come back to his senses.

The sole lingering thought he had on the matter was how the knight was single-handling a dragon, without divine powers nor support. He wondered with interest if they would make it alive.

_It would be quite a feat_ , the Firstborn said to himself before summoning a spear of lightning to slain the dragon that was launching toward him - after the battle, he would regret his carelessness. A breath later and the creature would have mauled him.

He then forgot everything about it and lost himself in the fight once again, in the shadow of his all-mighty father.

 

-

 

The first time Ornstein noticed the Firstborn, _really noticed him,_ for the man he was and not only for the god he ought to see in him, it was in the calm gardens of Anor Londo's castle.

The sun was shining brightly, illuminating the place as much as the presence of the royals idly talking amongst themselves. The youngest child of Gwyn, usually too frail to leave their chamber, was basking under the sun's warmth, accenting the otherworldly paleness of their skin. This in itself was a rare sight but the simple fact that their elder remained calmly at their side, conversing like the siblings they were and not with voices heavy with protocol and ceremonies, was even more unusual.

It was then that Ornstein really had the opportunity to get a close glance at the Firstborn. The god looked younger than what he originally thought, without his blessed armor, his fearful spear, and the burden of seeing his father send good men and women to their death. Not that much different in age than Ornstein, truth be told. Ornstein could see it. The very last bits of boyhood still hiding in the lean muscles. The white hair a testament of his lineage rather than his age. The face without worried lines to make him look like Lord Gwyn.

And most of all, the faint naivety and kindness that any young adult often tried to bury behind the illusion of maturity, pride and composure. It was very discreet. It was in the small patient smile, and in the way his eyes would not leave his younger sibling, arms crossed but ready to catch Lord Gwyndolin at the tiniest sign of feebleness from them.

It had made Ornstein stop in his tracks, forgetting the reason of his presence for a second. On the battlefield, and from the barracks of modest soldiers like himself, it was easy to forget that their Lords were more than severe, formal order-giving deities.

But then, the young man remembered his role and stepped forward. He announced his presence by removing his helmet, keeping it safely between his arm and hip, before clearing his throat quietly and kneeling down on one knee at a respectful distance of the duo, head hanging low in respect.

"What are you doing here, soldier?" came the calm but demanding voice. If Ornstein wasn't thinking earlier that he was disturbing a private, domestic moment, the rigid tone in total contradiction with the smile the Firstborn was harboring a second before was a good giveaway.

"Please forgive my interruption, Your Highness. My superior sent me, with a report and a message for you and your father."

"Hmm." From his peripheral vision, the knight saw the other man rise to approach him, no doubt trading his carefree attitude for a more serious one, more befitting of a warrior. "Rise. Let us hear it then."

So he did as commanded.

His voice stayed clear and professional during the whole process, even when he picked up the strange look the Firstborn was giving him. Ornstein tried to recall what mistakes he could have done to gain such attention. He may have interrupted the Prince in a moment of leisure, but aside from that, he had followed all the unspoken rules of the protocol of a soldier reporting to a superior.

It was grating on him, but he managed to keep his worry well hidden behind the mask of gravity he mastered during all his years of spartan training. A neutral face was a weapon as important as a sword, he learned early.

But Ornstein may be a little lacking in experience on this front, for he witnessed the curious look in the Firstborn's eyes changing to one of recognition, and it made him stutter lightly and take a step back when the enthusiastic voice of the god interrupted him without any care for what he was saying, apparently.

"Ah! I knew you seemed familiar." he said with a warm smile on his lips, a stark contrast from mere instants ago, "Are you not that most courageous knight who slain a dragon by himself during our last battle? I witnessed you back then. And your commanding officer would not stop praising your deed afterward."

"I... Huh." Ornstein answered then.

It was the best, most eloquent reaction he could have managed on the spot, taken aback by the swift change in topic and atmosphere.

Indeed, the feat the Firstborn was mentioning was his doing. It had been a long and harsh battle, one he thought lost in advance as he fought with everything he had. His victory was nothing more than the product of his patience and caution, and the dread filling him when he realized that a single mistake would have cost him his life. Ornstein casted his gaze to the ground in an attempt to regain his wavering composure, but he could feel the slight blush of embarrassment creeping on his face, rendering his efforts void.

He tried again.

"I... It was nothing, Your Highness. I was simply fulfilling my role as a soldier, nothing more."

"Nothing more. Of course. What is your name?"

"Ornstein, my Lord."

An acknowledging nod. "Ornstein. If all the men in my Father's army were capable of killing a dragon on their own, without lightning nor divine powers, this war would have been rendered trivial eons ago." the Firstborn crossed his arms, "Humility is a virtue, but do not dismiss thine own achievements in such a way. There is not greater demerit to yourself and to the ones that might look up to you."

"I... Understand." He didn't. Whatever the Firstborn was seeing in him, for him, there was truly nothing of honor in this victory. It had been made possible by the deaths of his fellow knights, weakening the beast before Ornstein found that he had no choice but to finish the job if he wanted to make their sacrifice worth. If he didn't wanted to join them in the afterlife. But somehow, he felt like the Firstborn would not accept this reasoning. "I thank you for your guidance, my Lord."

As if sensing his dishonesty on the matter, the other huffed a laugh. He seemed more amused than the opposite.

"You are quite the serious one, are you not?" he teased, a question that needed no answer. Ornstein opened his mouth but before he could say anything else, a weak, short and dry cough was heard. On the marble bench several feet from them, the young Gwyndolin seemed in pain despite the golden headpiece on their face, their breath suddenly more ragged and their body language stiff. Their elder brother lost no time in leaving Ornstein to join them, soothing and seemingly ready to lead them back to their chamber. "You are dismissed. I will pass on your message to my father, you can go back to your duty."

Ornstein bowed, even if the god wasn't looking at him anymore, his attention on something more important for the time being. But as he straightened and turned around to leave, he could hear the final teasing thrown his way.

"Maybe you should consider making the killing of dragons your specialty, you seem to have a certain talent for it."

 

-

 

The first time they touched each other was in the most mundane way. As mundane as it was for a humble silver knight to get the honor to spar with a son of the Sun anyway.

They were practicing on one of the barracks training grounds.

After their meeting at the gardens, it seemed like the god took a liking to visit the training grounds. His interest in the matter was the origin of a surge of zeal and motivation among the soldiers, being watched by such an amazing and revered warrior. Words were that the Firstborn took upon himself to scout and train those he would deem worthy. Rumors that grew in intensity when several days later, he started shouting bits of advice and encouragements at the recruits, who eagerly carried them out.

Another few days and the god was no more standing on the edge of the fields, but rather at the direct sides of the soldiers, showing them the best way to throw an enemy to the ground, or how to aim more efficiently.

As someone who was already quite well-loved and respected thanks to both his openness and his title of God of War, this new habit of him made him even more popular among the Silver Knights in a short amount of time.

As time passed, spars between Ornstein and the Firstborn were a common sight. So much so that they would hardly get any audience for it, the novelty and uniqueness of it having passed. But the first time, it had triggered a wave of attention and admiration from the men, putting the knight in quite the spotlight. Most would stop their own training in favor of watching them, going as far as cheering with enthusiasm.

It has started with a banter. Ornstein was now accustomed as well as the others of the divinity's presence and instructions, and even more so since the Firstborn would actually often go out of his way to offer him greater and more numerous recommendations. The extra attention seemed strange at first, but he quickly learned to accept it for the benefice it would do to him as a warrior.

"Come on Dragon Slayer, put more fervor into it! Lean more into your spear, feel it like it is an extension of your own body. You will never be able to crack open the scales of the bigger foes if you do not."

The command was sharp but the tone, light and upbeat. It made no difference to Ornstein though, as he was focusing hard on the way he moved. Despite wearing no armor, he was already panting lightly at the efforts his body was going through. He was training since morning already, his hair tousled and sticking to his face, the sweat running down his spine and his muscles running on adrenaline. The spear wasn't his idea, but rather came from Gwyn's son. A back-handed suggestion that was working surprisingly well. So far, Ornstein only used a sword and always managed quite good with it, but he had to admit that the spear was a nice change. It felt lighter in his hand, allowed him to move more quickly, was somehow more flexible, and at night he would sometimes think of all the ways he could use it more efficiently on the battlefield.

But of course, he was far from mastering it already. It was apparent in the way the Firstborn would often correct his movements.

For now, he was trying to focus on the last advice the god told him, as he executed a bold move consisting on jabbing the spear into the dirt and using both strength and momentum to propel himself off the ground. Well executed, it could help him get away from enemy's range, or directly landing behind their back. This one was the Firstborn's idea as well.

When he launched himself, it felt perfect at first. It has followed a series of nicely landed blows against the training dummy, and for a second the wind felt cool on his heated skin.

It didn't last though, as Ornstein sensed that the spear was bending way too much under him.

"Do not stay so stiff! Relax your body when you are in the air!"

Too late. Ornstein could hardly think this before he heard a loud, brief snapping sound. He was only mere feet above, but the fall felt much longer. He landed heavily on his back, dust rising and only vaguely aware of the two pieces of the spear landing near him.

"See, that is what happens when you put too much weight onto it." Ornstein heard a burst of laughter that sounded _definitely not worried in the slightest,_ as well as footsteps coming his way. He cursed to himself and sat back up. He tried tentatively to move his arms, his legs, his neck, and found out that everything seemed fine, at least. Even if the impact of his crash felt like it was still shaking his bones. He sighed, and at the exact time he plopped a hand on the ground to get up, another one appeared in front of him, welcoming and helpful. "How are you, Dragon slayer?"

Ornstein considered it in silence for the briefest of moment before taking the offered hand.

It felt warm and strong, he was thinking as he rose to his feet. The calloused hand of someone more used to handling weapons than silk or books. Not that it was surprising.

What _was_ surprising was the feeling that it lingered lightly over his own fingers, before letting go. He discarded it.

"It is the second time in a row."

"Hm?"

"That you called me like that today. Please, refrain from it."

Bitterness - as his own failure - was what drove him from answering in that unsightly manner. Were he less sour about it, Ornstein would have been mortified to speak to his Lord in such a way. It was unsightly, and even if he couldn't help it, he lowered his eyes, refusing to glance at the god in apprehension of the anger he could witness on his face.

So, it came as a surprise when he heard instead a dismissive sound, not too far off of an entertained snort.

"Why should I, pray tell? I only speak the truth."

"I merely killed a sole dragon. It hardly counts as being a slayer of their kind." Gods, he was being way too stubborn now. He blamed it on his fall. Being the serious and perfectionist soul that he was, such a misadventure in front of the God of War himself made him feel excessively self-conscious.

"Why do you think I am teaching you the way of the spear?" The god said like the answer was as obvious as the sun shining in the sky.

This left Ornstein speechless. His eyes darted toward the Firstborn as his mind was working around the implications the question unlocked.

Before his lack of reaction, the Firstborn smiled and slapped his hand against Ornstein's back playfully. "So, you are that kind of man. Strict and perceptive as long at it concerns others, but as soon as you are the one involved, you become fabulously unaware. You should maybe work on that as much as the rest, knight."

This, and the hard pressure on his back, managed to give the knight his voice back at least. He cleared his throat to compose himself, and let out a sight that sounded - he hoped - unimpressed and annoyed. It wasn't very effective, since amusement could be heard in his own voice under his weak reprimand, his sour mood gone.

"My Lord, I am afraid teasing your men in such a fashion is not fit of someone of your stature."

"Ahah! Good! Very good! You are already improving!" He nodded, pleased, before strolling back to the edge of the field toward the weapons racks. "Now, what do you say about a friendly match? Witnessing all of you train every day with such diligence has me aching to join you. I would enjoy an opponent like yourself."

"I would be honored."

Ornstein lost this very first duel, one of many to come, against the Firstborn. The god laughed then, and said it was because the fight wasn't fair in the first place given their difference of stamina - the knight was indeed already pretty beat when they started their little match.

The other man nodded, telling himself that it wasn't a matter of endurance as much as the fact that the god's hands felt too distracting on his own body.

He kept that to himself.

 

-

 

The first time they talked about something else than battles and war, it was the day of one of the numerous banquets ordered by Gwyn. Silver Knights weren't allowed at those, but the gods be damned if the soldiers would let any opportunity to relax slip away. They were all hounds loyal to their lieges, ready and thirsty for combat at a single word's command. But war was endless - at least it seemed like it, at that time - and moments of respite were sparse.

So, as nobility and royalty were feasting on marvelous wine and delicate meats, surrounded by marble and gold in their high castle, Ornstein and his companions were under the stars, gathered around modest fires and drinking ale that was decent enough to keep them and their laughters warm.

After a while though, Ornstein had excused himself, not quite ready to abandon himself to sleep yet, but in dire need of some peace and quiet. He waved his goodbyes under the banters of his companions, and once alone, far enough to not see the campfires anymore, he sat on a ledge overlooking the grandiose city in the distance, deposing his half-empty cup at his side. As much as he liked his brothers and sisters in arms, he was not one to overindulge in festivities. Plus, the great amount of cheap alcohol making its way among the soldiers meant that many would be bedridden with hangover the next morning, leaving the training grounds empty at dawn for his sole satisfaction. Ornstein was finding much solace in those calm and lone moments of training.

The view from up there was truly a sight to behold, basked in silver moonlight and dark shadows. He was wondering it would look even more magnificent from the top of the castle, where the Lords' apartments were. He entertained the thought for a little while, mostly out of boredom, until-

"So this is how our dragon slayer likes to spend a night of celebration? Should I even be surprised?"

It took every ounce of restraint Ornstein had in him not to flinch and knock away his drink. He must have been more inebriated than he thought for someone to sneak behind him like this. He turned around and automatically started to get up in a salute when he recognized the Firstborn walking toward him with a relaxed stance. But the Firstborn stopped him in his tracks.

"At ease," he said with a hand on his hip and a grin tucked on his lips, "today is a party for everyone. Just loosen up and enjoy yourself. That is what I intend to do myself." He concluded by raising his other hand, showing the dark bottle he was holding. From the smell and the swashing sound, it was alcohol, and probably still full.

Without asking - and why would he, for this whole domain was his to rule in the future - the Firstborn joined him and sat down. Far enough for it to be a respectful distance, but close enough that Ornstein could feel the warmth emanating from his body. Truly, Gwyn's son deserved his title of Sun God as much as the title of God of War. Even in the middle of the night, under a dark sky, his body heat and his easygoing attitude truly felt like he was the sun itself, sometimes.

_It is a pretty stupid thing to think about,_ Ornstein blamed himself.

"Well? Any particular reason you are here alone with your very melancholy, and not out there singing with your comrades?" He teased.

"None." Ornstein replied. Indeed, the wind was carrying the faint sound of some bawdy soldiers chants. Not really to his tastes, to be honest. "I simply find it... Easier sometimes. Being alone."

From his left came an acknowledging sound. "I see. I can understand that need."

He then carried the bottle to his lips and managed to chug so much liquid in one take that Ornstein couldn't help but stare, bewildered.

Bewildered, but certainly not as much as he should probably be. For all his divine upbringing, the last weeks spent in the Firstborn's company proved him at least that the man wasn't one to care about protocol and ranks, once outside the castle and far from his father's eyes. Amused, the silver knight smiled with indulgence when the god motioned for him to present his own cup to fill it with the dark alcohol once the ale was finished.

They kept silent for a little while, watching lazily the slumbering kingdom before their eyes. The crown jewel of Gwyn's legacy and what they had both sworn to protect, each for their own reasons.

For once, it was Ornstein who spoke first and broke the quiet between them. He was feeling strangely at ease - good even. So he let the pleasant friendliness he was feeling slip into his tone.

"And what excuse does the first prince have to sneak away from a very much official banquet and share his drink with a simple soldier? Surely, it is not a common affair among the royalty, is it?"

The other man took another taste of his drink, waving his other hand dismissively. At first, his eyebrows were frowned in minor annoyance, like he was recalling an unpleasant memory, but ultimately he sighed loudly and shrugged almost dramatically. Before closing slightly the distance between them, in a mockery of confidence.

"Can I tell you a secret? Those feasts are as boring as my father every time he opens his mouth to talk. He is as good as a host as he is a parent. And I can assure that it is not much!"

The only thing to answer this was the sound of Ornstein choking on a mouthful of warm liquor, taken aback by the clear defiance and lack of respect the Firstborn just demonstrated without a single hesitation.

It was quickly met with a soothing pat on his back and a pleasant laugh, one Ornstein could not help but join in after a while, his throat sore because of the alcohol and his mouth tugging into a light smirk. Was he more sober, the idea of having the very own first son of Gwyn talking about his father in such regard, and to a silver knight at that, would have made him almost uncomfortable. But here, under the moonlight and far from anyone else, his mind at ease and his body slightly numb, he was feeling the amusement coming from the other man, bubbly and contagious, and Ornstein simply didn't feel like resisting it.

For a while, they weren't a god of war and his soldier, but two young men sharing laughters and bad drinks.

They talked about a lot of things that night, both grand and unimportant, and the only thing that stopped them was the sky coloring itself in the pinks and oranges of sunrise.

 

-

 

The first time Gwyn's son told Ornstein to call him by his name, it was on the dawn of a new battle - another one, endless - against the Dragons.

Both the lower parts of the castle and the barracks were bustling with activity. Horses were prepared, weapons were cleaned and inspected, and soldiers and servants alike were all busy getting ready for the travel to come.

It was meant to be a decisive strike from Gwyn. Whispers floated in the air. Some saying that the king had yet found another powerful and mysterious ally. Some that he devised a plan that would end it all, for good. Whatever the truth was, the rumors were met with various level of interest and seriousness. Younger recruits were nothing else than eager and proud, already talking about going back to their families once the war would end. On the other hand, older, wearier warriors just lent a mildly interested ear at the gossips, knowing better than getting their hope up.

Ornstein wasn't particularly one or the other. While he was very far from being the oldest soldier of the army - quite the contrary in fact - all he had known since childhood was this life of fighting and military mindset. Training, risking his life in battle and obeying orders were just part of him and to be very honest and blunt, he had trouble picturing his life without the war plaguing the kingdom.

Victory on the battlefield was an accomplishment to him. Not a mean to an end to bring peace to this land. As awful as it might sound. Sometimes, when his comrades were talking with passion and brightness of their commitment to end the war for everyone's good, Ornstein felt like being a fraud.

It felt...

"-so you are not listening to me I take it?"

Ornstein snapped back to reality, out of his inner thinking. Before him stood the Firstborn, a hand on a hip, and the other patting gently the flank of Ornstein's horse. Right. The Prince came to talk to him while he was preparing his mount for the travel. The conversation started idly, but it seemed like the knight lost himself in the mental pressure that came with the adrenaline of going to war.

The look the Firstborn was giving him was a curious one. Ornstein straightened himself, suddenly more aware of the situation, but even then his thoughts were still wandering elsewhere. He avoided the eyes of his Prince, busying himself with the saddle of the horse. The animal neighed in protest when his curt gestures secured the straps a little too forcefully.

"My apologies, my Lord. I was..."

"Distracted, yes, I can see that." The god then murmured softly for a while to the mount to keep it calm, his broad hand stroking its nose with utmost care. "Your horse is going to resent you if you do not calm down, you know."

Frowning, the knight let a puff of air escape his lips and took a step back, nodding absentmindedly. He didn't like it. Being this distracted before taking off to the front lines. Ornstein was a rational, analytical kind of individual. Not a lot of issues could faze him. But if it was the case, he would be restless until he could find an answer to clear his head.

"What plagues your mind, dragon slayer?"

Ornstein took actually a short moment to consider the question, buying time by crouching near the saddlebags he had yet to secure on the horse to inspect them. Nothing missing, of course. He knew it already. He then spotted the spear he was going to carry to battle for the first time, sitting against the wall.

Maybe it was the reason for his agitation.

"If you do not mind me asking," he got up, taking the weapon in his hand in the same swift motion and turned back slightly to his prince, "why do you fight? What for? The end of the conflict? Peace?"

At that, the Firstborn actually looked taken aback. In retrospective, it was the first time Ornstein was witnessing such an expression from the other man. It was... Refreshing, in a way. A novelty he found strange to enjoy.

What was more familiar was the booming laugh that followed, echoing through the courtyard. A few soldiers paused to glance at them quizzically but Ornstein paid them no mind. By now, it was a well-known sound that put him at ease and made him smile in return.

"Dear Ornstein, you must be the only soul on this land to ask without a fleck of hesitation if a god of war fight for peace."

Of course, he was aware of the oddity of the inquiry. Actually, were the Firstborn less friendly toward him these past few weeks, he wouldn't have asked it. Probably.

"If you want an honest answer, well... I fight because I wish to." He continued.

The sheer confusion on Ornstein's face must have shown, because the god merely smirked at his silence, crossing his arms and shrugging casually.

"Were you waiting for something else? It is very simple, I take arms because I am good at it. I feel as if I belong on the battlefield. It does not require anything else. Does it?"

"I..." Ornstein could sense that any retort would be useless. The prince's answer was plain and straightforward. The exact opposite of himself, always so prone to over-analyze everything. In fact, it was _so uncomplicated_ , Ornstein felt like it was exactly what he needed to hear. He couldn't help shaking his head lightly in mild disbelief, but it wouldn't hide his relieved expression. "No. I guess not. With you putting it so bluntly, it does not, my Prince."

This time, the hand that clapped his back was gentler and stayed there, against his shoulder blades. Ornstein barely noticed it, for that too became an easy, comfortable thing between the two of them.

"Good! Should I believe then that whatever was clouding your mind is now a thing of the past?"

He nodded. "It is. I thank you, my Lord."

The Firstborn hummed. It was a pleased tone, something he would often do when talking to Ornstein. But this time, it also sounded a bit amused, as the prince moved his hand from the soldier's back. And rather than backing away and breaking contact completely, he put his arm around Ornstein's shoulder instead, tugging him closer.

"In that case, allow me to ask for a request in exchange."

It took the knight a second to process the situation before the self-awareness came to him like a flood. Both a blessing and a curse, the surprise of the sudden proximity was great enough to make him freeze, allowing him to stay still at the contact. But it was what made his words stumble out of his mouth.

"A request, My Lord?"

"Faraam."

"Huh?"

"My name." A pause. "You are a great warrior, an honorable man and a good friend, Ornstein. I would be most honored to have you calling me by my name instead of those pompous titles."

Of course, the name Faraam wasn't a secret for anybody. But it was true that, for everyone, Gwyn's Firstborn and God of War were names synonyms of victory and greatness. A symbol. Thus, referring to the prince by his birth name was a very uncommon thing, even more among soldiers and commoners.

That's why the demand now embarrassed him more than the closeness of their bodies.

When he was sure that he hadn't misheard, Ornstein jerked back involuntarily. The arm slipped a little from his shoulders but stayed nonetheless, hanging more loosely and allowing him the luxury to turn his face away from his lord.

"I cannot possibly do such a thing." he objected spontaneously.

"Even if I am the one asking?"

Asking. Not ordering. Well, it was making sense, since the Firstborn seemed to value their friendship. It was quite obvious that he was too earnest to order it. It would render the meaning void.

Even then, Ornstein couldn't shake away the sensation that it would be crossing a line their respective ranks would never allow. Either that, or the sheer favoritism and intimacy of it was simply too much for him.

Surely a little bit of both.

The silver knight struggled to find something to answer back. And failed miserably when he felt the arm finally releasing him for good, letting the cold air filling the space.

"I see. Well, I will not force you to then." He was smiling like usual, carefree, and the atmosphere around him still had this easygoing air that would often follow him. He didn't seem disappointed nor let down in the slightest. And in a way, it was what made Ornstein uneasy. "Do not trouble yourself over it. After all, it may have been a little silly of me to ask that."

The dismissive tone flared a tiny pang of hurt in Ornstein, but he decided to ignore it. It wasn't a rational thing to feel after being the one denying a simple request from his liege.

He watched in silence the god's back as the latter decided to go back to the horse to pat its flank casually before addressing Ornstein again. "We will depart soon. I will be busy during the whole campaign assisting my father, so I wish you now the best of luck for the battles to come." The Firstborn dropped his hand and glanced at him quickly before walking away. "Do not die, knight."

"I thank you once again."

Ornstein barely managed to keep himself from adding "my Lord" at the end. He had the hunch that it wasn't the right thing to say right now.

For the days to come, filled with travel, training and setting of the camp, he mercifully didn't have time to dwell on the matter too much. Yet, on his rare occasions of rest, or when he could get a glance of the Firstborn - of Faraam - in the distance with Gwyn, he asked himself why he was unable to access to his friend's demand.

And at night, he would sometimes let the name escape his lips, testing it and trying to make it less foreign on his tongue.

During one of those nights, Ornstein realized that for everyone - soldiers, civilians, subjects, nobles - Faraam was the God of War before he was Faraam. That few were the ones to actually call him by his name.

In fact, Ornstein suspected that even for Gwyn himself, Faraam was the God of War before he was his son.

 

-

 

The first time Ornstein complied to the prince's request, it was several days later, after the bloodshed ended.

The camp was filled with injured soldiers and rushing healers and attendants.

Running as fast as his body could permit in his state, the silver knight paid no mind to the world around him, his eyes focused on the far-away healers tents, those restricted to the higher-up.

The battlefield was a little afar, but the dark smoke from the Dragons' scorching breath was perfectly visible even from here, casting a somber shadow from the sky. If the silence back there was eerie, heavy from the smell of burning lands and corpses as the volunteers searched for survivors, the camp was exploding with activity and a sense of urgency.

It was nor a total victory, nor a clear defeat. Losses on two sides, a lot of wounded, and a campaign that dragged on so long that the majority of the soldiers were too worn-out to celebrate just yet, too preoccupied with the friends they lost.

Until now, Ornstein's duties had kept him up on his feet. Aside from a fatigue that was still kept at bay thanks to the rush of adrenaline, his own injuries were minimal, and as such he had been requisitioned all day long to help assessing the situation. He had mainly been tasked with carrying messages between officers, and it took him almost all day.

In a way, it helped. Helped forget the aching pain in his bones and the spear that was now lying broken under the carcass of a Dragon. Forget the way his armor was too heavy and sticky with grim and blood. His helmet laid abandoned somewhere he didn't even remember, and the mechanical task of echoing directives and reports kept his mind from wandering too far. To think of unnecessary things.

To dwell on the rumors that the prince got injured in battle, and the fact that Ornstein hadn't seen him once since the end of the fight to contradict it.

So, in the end, he couldn't take it. As soon as he had been released from his obligations, he had started searching frantically for a sign of his friend.

At first, he had managed to keep calm and collected. But the more people he had asked without success, the more groups of injured men he had checked, the more quickly he had lost his composure, his feet breaking into a run when, finally, a physician pointed him the farthest tent from the camp. And the more he closed the distance, the more his thoughts were racing, showing him visions of his friend that would haunt him for a long time if revealed to be true.

It could have been anything. It could have been the worst. Gods they may be, but they weren't immortals.

_Please, be safe._

No one was guarding the entrance to the tent - not that it would have stopped him. So, Ornstein barged in, keeping barely his bubbling panic in check.

"Faraam!" He shouted, his voiced filled with worry. It was met with surprised, high-pitched screams and loud gasps.

Before him, a tiny group of men and women in healer's garb looked at him as if he was a drake himself, here to slaughter them in a single strike.

But Ornstein himself barely noticed them, as he walked further inside. There, sat down on the edge of cot, was his liege and friend.

Appearing to be completely fine.

Well, apart from some minor injuries here and there. A young woman in white was bandaging his arm, and his bare chest showed wounds that had already been tend to. But apart from that, no limb gone, no blood pooling on the bed, and no skin charred black by the enemy's fire. In fact, the prince even looked exactly the same as always, plus the exhaustion on his face and the surprise in his eyes.

A deep sense of relief overcame the knight. He was hardly aware of a foreign hand on him, trying to move him away from the spot he seemed to be glued to and toward the exit. The man at his side was pressing and curt when he addressed him. "You are not allowed here. Unless you are carrying a message to the Prince, I must ask you to get out."

He tried to find his voice back to object, well aware that the healer was actually right, yet rejecting the harsh command.

"Let him stay," came the calm tone of the god, "you are the ones to be dismissed."

None of the healers seemed to move, but none said a word of protest. They all seemed at a loss.

The only one who dared to speak up was the man who tried to throw Ornstein outside.

"Sire, you are injured. Our role is to attend to you, we cannot possibly..."

"I am not going to die." Faraam sighed, his voice more drained and annoyed than commending. "You already did what you had to. Go help elsewhere. Surely there must be enough of our men in need of healing for you to stay up all night. Just get out. This is an order." he added, more pressing, like he could feel the rebuttal that was still on the man's tongue.

But this last reminder seemed to have been effective, and soon knight and prince were alone inside the tent.

In the sudden stillness and quiet, everything settled down on Ornstein. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and it felt like all his worries got out of his chest with it.

"You are alright."

It sounded so soft it was almost as if he spoke to himself. However, the chuckle he got in answer showed that the Firstborn picked it up anyway.

"Why wouldn't I be? Am I not a god?"

Such a carefree reply. It was proof enough of the wellbeing of the prince, without a doubt.

The pressure finally gone, and the feeling of tiredness catching up to him now that Ornstein was reassured, he forgot all protocol and let himself sat down heavily on the bed next to the other man.

He rubbed his face with a gauntleted hand. Now, embarrassment was the one creeping in. Of course. Of course Faraam would be alright. Gods were powerful. Mighty. Stubborn and assertive to a fault. Ornstein couldn't picture him die that simply, on a cot, because of a careless mistake on the battlefield. It was unfitting of a god of war.

Yet, he couldn't find anything else to say than repeating "You are alright." into his palm, letting the thought sink in after his short panic.

A pat on his back, that became a comforting rub. Warm. Serene.

"I am. You worry too much, Ornstein."

A derisive snort. Ornstein didn't answer. He knew that. But in insight, it was the first time he had worried this much for the well-being of someone else. Genuinely, and not for the sake of a mission. He straightened and risked a glance toward the god.

Faraam was smiling like the sun he was, and not like they were in a camp full of injured soldiers during a war. Almost stupidly so. Ornstein raised an eyebrow at the change of mood, suspicious.

"Dare I ask why you are looking at me like that?"

The hand on his back traveled to his hair, dirty with sweat and dust, staying there for the briefest of moment before tousling it as Faraam began to laugh. "I was simply recalling the face of this old quack when you barged in there shouting my name!"

Oh.

_Oh._

_Yes. Right. He did that._

He tried to resist the urge to hide his face in his palm again.

"It was... The spur of the moment."

Because he was afraid. Because for the shortest of time, Ornstein forgot about being a knight, and about their ranks.

"Oh I do not doubt it!" he said lightly. He withdrew his hand and managed the feat to look at the same time proud and sheepish. "Yet you find me glad. For the levelheaded Ornstein to care about me enough to lose his composure in such a way, it was quite a sight to behold."

Ornstein felt his cheeks growing hotter with mild embarrassment. He tried to just ignore it, for it was far from the first time that the Firstborn would admit such things. It was still a little hard to accept those displays of honest fondness. Faraam's straightforwardness could still feel a little disconcerting at times.

"...Is this of so much importance to you? Me calling you by your name?" Ornstein asked finally. The other man was leaning into him like it was the most natural thing on earth. It made Ornstein realize that this proximity was, all things considered, surprisingly nice.

"It is. I see it as the sign that you regard me as a friend and an equal, as it is already the case for myself."

In an impulsive urge to feel even more warmth, to feel that his friend was here, and led by his exhaustion, the silver knight let his forehead drop onto Faraam's shoulder. He sighed heavily, both from weariness and resignation.

_What a fool,_ Ornstein thought then. Followed by: _Ah. I would follow this man to the end of this world._

Rough fingers were carding through his hair, it felt good.

It would be alright. He was worth following.

"Alright. You win, Faraam."

 

-

 

The first time they kissed was also the first time Ornstein swore undying loyalty to Faraam, and Faraam alone. It was ushered between two longing sighs and caught by a set of lips that were as dry and warm as he often imagined it.

It was also the first time Faraam understood that he loved the man in front of him, and that he found the boldness to voice it. Being bold and daring was something he was very familiar with, but he found out that it was easier on a battlefield or in a war council than here, tucked away in the privacy of Ornstein's bedroom, with the object of his affection held so close to him.

It was also the first time they both knew of the implications of those feelings and of what hardships would wait for them. But it was also the first time they both decided that, for the time being, they would not care at all.

It was a lot of first times at once, and they hoped that there would be a lot of them to come.


End file.
